


Bittersweet

by chaineddove



Category: Nana
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-08
Updated: 2009-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaineddove/pseuds/chaineddove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reira tries her hand at Japanese Valentine's Day traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

Her first attempt at homemade chocolate is an unmitigated disaster.

She is in the fourth grade and has always made do with store-bought. Her mother is protective for all that she is occasionally distant, and doesn’t teach her to make anything more complex than miso or noodles, worried she might burn herself. Melting chocolate is out of the question, of course, and for awhile Reira doesn’t know enough to mind. She still has vague memories of American school holidays, cut-out paper Valentines and the powdery, artificial sweetness of heart-shaped candy with inane sayings printed on it in red block letters. It takes her a long time to realize that the brightly wrapped packages handed out by her classmates contain something other than that; after all, she is not a boy and no one has ever given her one.

Takumi shares his, but she doesn’t understand at first why they eat oddly misshapen, runny bonbons every February, and he doesn’t enlighten her. When she finally realizes, a week and a half into February of her fourth grade year, that they have been snacking on gifts from his many admirers, she feels jealous and very stupid.

She fights with her mother for the first time in years. In the end, she triumphantly marches into the local supermarket, dragging her mother behind her, and fills a basket with whatever supplies catch her fancy. She has a penchant for intricately shaped molds and cheerfully colorful boxes. The bag she receives from the clerk is so heavy she nearly staggers under its weight, but she lugs it home through the swirling snow feeling like she is carrying a treasure.

♥♥♥

There is no time for a practice batch. Her mother sighs as she braids Reira’s hair and tucks it back, then swathes her in an apron. “I haven’t done this in years, you know,” she says, tying on her own protective gear. The resigned look on her face makes Reira feel as though they are preparing for some sort of battle, with aprons and kerchiefs for armor.

“It will be fine,” she says, cheerfully refusing to be daunted. “You’ll see.”

She hums under her breath and feels very capable and grown up as she pours the cocoa powder from a red box printed with chocolate flowers.

By the time they finish, however, the kitchen looks as though they have had a battle, after all, and lost it terribly. There is cocoa and milk and glutinous mixes of the two on every available surface, and the stove looks like a work of modern art, splattered as it is with chocolate, caramel and food coloring. There is a shiny red burn on Reira’s left arm and tears in her eyes as she watches her mother cover the filled molds and store them away in the refrigerator. She is too exhausted and hot to try the fruit of their labors, but she follows it hopefully with her gaze.

“It needs to set,” her mother tells her, looking worn out. “Take a bath and go to bed, you have school in the morning.”

Reira does as she is told, but the stinging of the burn on her arm and anticipation keep her awake long into the night. Her room smells of burned sugar and cocoa despite the bath, and the ticking of her Minnie Mouse alarm clock is too loud in the darkness.

♥♥♥

The chocolates turn out just as lumpy and unimpressive as those made by her classmates. Still, Takumi eats them first, with a carefully blank expression on his face, and doesn’t let her try any. “You made these for _me_ right?” he asks. “Why should I have to share?”

He smiles very slightly and she comes away from the exchange feeling strangely flattered, because he seems more than willing to share the candy made by others when she asks. Whether or not he means it as a sign of favor, it makes her feel special.

♥♥♥

It isn’t until years later that he admits that she mixed up salt and sugar somewhere. He is very drunk and it slips out: “I was never going to tell you, but that was hands down the _worst_ thing I ever ate.” He winces. “My stomach is still upset, remembering that.”

She’s never learned to cook properly and he has never seemed to care, but she still feels her face heating up in shame. “But you _ate_ it!” she cries.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” he asks, gesturing with his cigarette for emphasis. “You’d have cried if I didn’t.” He smiles the same way he did back then, when he ate the ruined chocolate. Despite the rising color in her cheeks, she can’t help but smile back.


End file.
